


Carpet Burns

by Graynotgray



Series: Cut Me Deep [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi needs therapy, Biting, Carpet Burns, Choking, Floor Sex, Gross Undernegotiation of kinks, Hate Sex, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Rough Sex, Ryuji is bad with feelings, Set some time during Januray, Spit As Lube, Unrequited Love, in regards to the Ryuji/Akira pairing, knowing me part two will have fluff in it, please use actual lube people, this however is just... gratuitous smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23762650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graynotgray/pseuds/Graynotgray
Summary: “Eyes open,” Akechi hisses with a pointed tug on Ryuji’s dick, his nail digging into the slit as precum beads from the head. He swears but obeys, glaring and spitting out what he hopes is something coherent, but then that awful grin is back, Akechi’s expression looking crazed. He leans down and Ryuji can feel that hot breath against his neck, teeth grazing at his jaw in a way that makes his chest quiver with anticipation. “You don’t get to imagine Kurusu-kun is doing this to you,” And fuck if that isn’t the worst possible thing Akechi could have said.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Sakamoto Ryuji, Amamiya Ren/Sakamoto Ryuji, Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji
Series: Cut Me Deep [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719253
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	Carpet Burns

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, Royal Akechi is a certain kind of crazy that gives me... ideas.
> 
> Of him going to therapy to get the help he needs.
> 
> But also of rough sex.

Hands around his neck makes Sakamoto's vision swim, the heat burning in his cheeks made all the more shameful by the squeeze of leather gloves. His chest heaves with each laboured breath, body squirming and legs kicking out in an attempt to get free that he knows will only be in vain. If Ryuji had any energy left to spare for the night he might have stood a chance, but his knee is aching like a bitch and his body is just ready to submit.

The body above Ryuji is far too hot, fingers digging into skin in a way he's sure will bruise by morning. He can feel the hardness press against his rump and feels a wave of disgust overwhelm him. As if given energy anew, Ryuji tries to wrench himself out of that tight hold only to be pushed deeper into the carpet, the horrible burn of fabric sending shockwaves straight to his dick. He knows it shouldn't turn him on, fuck, he knows it's so wrong, yet his body doesn't seem to heed his mind, already trying to press back against the grinding pressure of that asshole's clothed cock.

But Sakamoto Ryuji isn't gay. He isn't into dudes. And he,  _ definitely _ , isn’t hopelessly in love with one Kurusu Akira. It's just the situation he finds himself in; any guy would feel the same way, even if he isn’t into guys. It’s just a natural response to being pressed down into the ground while some asshole grinds against his ass. It’s normal. Nothing gay. Nothing weird.

Those hands free his jugular and Ryuji takes a wheezing gasp of air, coughing up nothing as his trail of thought is interrupted by blissful oxygen. But then he's on his back and held down as strong thighs straddle his hips. A horribly familiar head of shaggy brown hair comes into focus as his vision clears and a part of Ryuji wants to spit in Akechi's smug face. Yet a darker, more primal, part just wants to submit.

Ryuji knows he can’t fight back in this state; knows that it would only tire him out before the good part, knows that it would disappoint Akechi too-no. Shit. When did Ryuji start caring what this asshole thinks? Feeling Akechi’s gloved thumb stroke over the burn he’d made when he pushed Ryuji’s face into the carpet, it almost feels tender. Ryuji almost melts against the touch, almost closes his eyes and imagines that gentle caress belonging to another young man with oversized glasses, almost  _ allows _ himself to imagine what it would be like to actually  _ like _ himself.

But the touch turns rough again all at once and Ryuji is left glowering up at the man straddling him. He isn’t entirely sure when Akechi began to grind his hips down, down against the already constricting tightness in his pants, but he wants to fight back.

Except he can’t. Ryuji knows this; Mementos is getting harder and harder with each day Akira drags them all back, Maruki’s palace even more so. He’s too bone tired tonight to even attempt to turn the pin back on Akechi, because he was left to his own devices while Ryuji joined Joker on the main team. Even now, he can feel the cool of sweat against his overheated skin, feel the way his shirt sticks too closely to his body.

He doesn’t realise it when the tip of Akechi’s finger presses against his lips, only when the boy pulls away to tug his glove off his feral teeth. And then two fingers are shoved past the seam of Ryuji’s lips, heedless of the biting maw he knows lies in wait. Oh, and Ryuji bites, he bites down hard, yet receives a pointed squeeze of his jugular as if that doesn’t make his cock jump in excitement.

Fuck. This shouldn’t be hot. This shouldn’t turn him on. Yet it does, oh, it does.

“Pants off,  _ Skull _ ,” Akechi hisses, rising up on his knees so Ryuji at least has the space to fumble with his belt buckle. And Ryuji does fumble. The squeeze of his throat, the way his tongue is pressed flat against the bottom of his mouth, makes his vision spot black once more and his joints refuse to properly obey. Yet his trousers are promptly kicked off with a low grunt of impatience, his boxers quickly followed. Fuck, he almost whines when he hears the ragged, “Good boy,” Like he’s some kind of dog.

It’s kind of like a game between them, Ryuji supposes. Each time they fall together like this, with flesh and teeth and nails meeting, he says he’s going to win this time, says he’ll finally pin the bastard down and fuck him like all the times Akechi has fucked him before. But every time Akechi is stronger, every time he manages to get the upper hand and ends up winning their little game. Each time he loses, Ryuji swears that next time… next time he’ll win.

But he never does. And he’s not entirely sure if it’s a matter of strength or if his body has finally been taught its place. Because if it’s the former then he needs to train harder but if it’s the latter…

Ryuji is allowed another precious breath as Goro unhands him, fingers leaving his mouth feeling empty and abandoned. He tries to roll back onto his front to present himself to the other man, but Goro pins him with his bad leg bent up beside his head. He suppresses the wince, instead simply glowering as he feels spit-slicked fingers probe at the ring of muscle that serves as Akechi’s entry to him. Though he tenses and clenches, keeps his eyes shut tight, Ryuji’s traitorous body shivers at the contact, opening up like a wilting flower to rain as those first two fingers force their way inside.

“Shithead,” Ryuji growls as the realisation dawns on him that he isn’t going to be able to ignore that smug face of Akechi tonight. The fake bastard leans down with that manic grin that used to shoot fear through his veins like a drug. It still kind of does.

Nipping at the shell of his ear, Ryuji’s blood boils as he hears that soft whisper, “Ape.” And then those all-too-skilled fingers shift and hit his prostate and suddenly his vision is swimming for another reason entirely, a strangled gasp choked from his throat despite his ardent need to keep it in. If he had the space to throw a punch, he probably would have; wipe that cocky grin that is crawling its way onto Akechi’s face. But he can’t and Ryuji knows this so he simply lays his head back and closes his eyes.

“Eyes open,” Akechi hisses with a pointed tug on Ryuji’s dick, his nail digging into the slit as precum beads from the head. He swears but obeys, glaring and spitting out what he hopes is something coherent, but then that awful grin is back, Akechi’s expression looking crazed. He leans down and Ryuji can feel that hot breath against his neck, teeth grazing at his jaw in a way that makes his chest quiver with anticipation. “You don’t get to imagine Kurusu-kun is doing this to you,” And fuck if that isn’t the worst possible thing Akechi could have said.

“Fuck you!” Ryuji spits, slapping a hand over his mouth to suppress any moan or groan that might threaten to push through. He wants to yell and scream, say he doesn’t think of his best friend in that way, that he’s never imagined in the dead of night what Akira might look in the bed beside him, or with his cheeks flushed, or with his lips wrapped around Ryuji’s-no. He could say he doesn’t think of any of that, but they’d both know he’s lying. “Keep Akira out of this.”

“Eloquent as always, Sakamoto-san,” Akechi says before he rips his fingers from their ministrations and takes a rough hold of Ryuji’s hip. The blond grimaces, ignoring how his entire body shivers as he feels a familiar pressure at his loosened hole. They lock eyes and, as if making sure Ryuji doesn’t look away at that moment, Akechi pushes in with little mercy for the boy underneath him. Lips meet then but it’s less a kiss and more a mauling, teeth digging into Ryuji’s bottom lip until he can taste blood. Even then, a tongue too rough for its own good pushes past the bloody mess and into his mouth, dominating it like it dominated the rest of his body a few moments before. When Akechi pulls away he’s breathing heavily, hips already rocking back and forth, back and forth, with little thought to any particular rhythm.

Ryuji’s knee hurts, the ache bone-deep as Akechi pins it to the carpet with his body, his one free hand planted firmly beside his head. His cock is left neglected by the bastard and it hurts how turned on he is, but he doesn’t complain. He won’t.

Still, a sigh is dragged from his lips as he finds his body relaxing into the motions, his blunt nails digging into Akechi’s shoulders as the pace begins to become more rapid. Ryuji can hear the slap of skin more than feel it, his body blissfully numb save for the pleasurable pressure building in his gut. Though he wants to allow himself to moan, to fully appreciate the feeling deep inside him, he can’t when the person making him feel this way is Akechi Goro.

Ryuji’s mouth falls open in a silent groan, his head turning to the side just so he doesn’t have to look at the other young man. He doesn’t want to think of Akechi when he cums, because he knows that blinding pressure is building and building with each deceptively skilfull rock of his hips. And when that pressure snaps he wants to be thinking of anyone else.

Ryuji cums with a low groan he can’t quite hold back, his eyes going wet as he glances at Akechi looming above him. Cum stains his shirt, he knows that, and Akechi is grinning wildly like a madman as he thrusts in once, twice, a third time, before hilting himself fully and letting out a hiss. Ryuji feels heat bloom inside him, and just goes limp, a sigh forcing its way through his teeth as if he’s in any way  _ satisfied _ with this set up.

The two are simply left gasping for breath as they come down from their respective highs. Akechi is still lodged within him when he lowers himself down, propped up on his elbows bracketing Ryuji’s head. Idly, he can feel hot breath against his cheek, and there’s something he can’t admit is a bit too… intimate about the way they’re laying there on the floor together like this. As if to get his attention, Goro gives one last experimental thrust, dragging a curse from Ryuji as he finally turns a glare on him.

“Fuck. You.” Ryuji hisses, his body shuddering in overstimulated bliss as Akechi idly palms his spent cock. Brown hair is sticking to his neck, he realises oddly, his mind honing in on the flush of pale skin as cum is displaced from inside him with each renewed thrust.

“Quite,” Akechi groans, dragging his hips back before pushing back in at an almost lethargic, if not excruciating, pace. Ryuji can feel each slow push and pull, dark eyes unable to look away as Akechi mouths at his collarbone. Teeth dig in, a tongue laving over skin, before pulling away to examine the purple mark left behind. Finally, Akechi appears to realise where he is and turns his eyes back on Ryuji, eyeing the blood still beading on his bottom lip.

Something about this feels… wrong somehow. Or maybe just different, Ryuji isn’t sure with his mind so focused on Akechi like this. He doesn’t like it. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything and nothing all at the same time and he isn’t sure how to take that surprisingly lucid look on Goro’s face.

Neither of them last longer than the first round did, not when battling oversensitivity and  _ pleasure, pleasure, pleasure _ . Ryuji must pass out at some point because he wakes up later on and sore all over. Akechi is already dressed by then, glancing at him from his seat at the table, eating some ready-made meal that probably isn’t all that good for him.

“Go have a shower and get washed up,” Akechi says as calm as ever, “You’re filthy.”

Later, when Ryuji is sneaking into his apartment, he knows he’ll have to face the worry of his mother, knows she’ll be asking questions about all the scrapes and bumps and  _ his fucking lip _ . And he knows he can’t tell her, knows that he’ll just shrug and say, “Some guys cornered me and beat me up.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably end up doing a part two to this so the tables can be turned on Akechi. Because reasons.


End file.
